"At first I thought you fellows were raiding somebody," he went on.
"There is a mine not a thousand miles from where you're sitting that puts
out exactly this same kind of ore, only it's not anywhere near as rich as
these picked samples of yours."
"What made you change your mind?" I queried, willing to see how far he
would go. "How do you know we are not raiding somebody's ore shed?"
"Because I know Bob Barrett," was the crisp reply. Then: "Why are you
boys making this night play? Why don't you come out in the open like
other folks--honest folks, I mean?"
"There are reasons," I asserted.
"Afraid somebody will catch on and swamp you with a rush of claim
stakers?"
"Call it that, if you like."
"You're plumb foolish, and I told Bob Barrett so last night. You're
carrying this stuff miles; I know by the way you come in here with your
tongues hanging out. It's like trying to dip the ocean dry with a pint
cup. One good wagon-load of your ore--if you've got that much--would
count for more than you three could lug in a month of Sundays."